Once we drew closer, one of the other Optios muttered, “I hate this cac. And I’ve got three women to tell tonight.”
We gave him a look of sympathy; that was an unusually high number. Without any order being given, the whole group stopped, still several paces away from the women, and for a moment both sides stood there, staring at each other, neither side wanting to do what had to be done.
“Let’s get this over with.”
It was the same Optio who had spoken first, just before he broke from the group, calling out a woman’s name, followed by the name of the man with whom she was associated. This triggered the rest of us and we waded into the group, as I used my height to see if I could see the red head of hair that belonged to Gisela. It was not long before there was a shriek of unspeakable grief, followed by sobbing, and that was just the beginning. By the time I searched through the crowd of women to see that she was not there, I was surrounded by women wracked with grief, some falling to their knees, some offering support to others, all of them crying.
Grimly making my way through the group, I tried to get my bearings and remember what part of the encampment the wine shop usually occupied. While most of the other merchants, once they had established a clientele, more or less picked the same spot so that their customers could find them easily, the same was not true for wine shops. Experience taught them that off-duty men are not particularly loyal to one shop or another, preferring to just drop into the first one that is suitable for their tastes and budget. That meant that there was always a scramble among the wine shop merchants for the most lucrative locations, so I was not particularly optimistic that Gisela would be in the last place I saw her in the last camp spot I visited. Nevertheless, I had to start somewhere, so I headed in that general direction. Behind me, the wailing and mourning was picking up in intensity, as more women were informed of the fate of their men. Not all the women were there; like me, I spied a few other men prowling the streets, calling out a woman’s name. Deciding that I would only start yelling Gisela’s name if I did not have initial luck in finding her, I continued walking, arriving at where I thought she might be. Coming to a stop, I heaved a sigh of relief; hanging above one tent was the sign for the wine shop. Apparently they weren’t worried about their location, I thought, walking towards what served as the front door of the shop. Before I got there, however, a figure stepped out and while I recognized that it was a woman, it took me a moment before it registered that it was Gisela. Once I recognized her, I stopped abruptly, my call to her dying in my throat before it left my mouth. What was I going to say? It did not matter; coming out for a breath of fresh air, as she was giving a casual glance up the street before she walked back in she turned and saw me. Holding the flap back, she was illuminated by the lamps within, so I saw her standing there staring at me, and I watched the progression of emotion play across her face. Looking puzzled for a brief instant, she started to smile when she recognized me, then just as quickly, the smile vanished as she realized why I was there. I had yet to say a word but she already knew, her hand dropping the flap as she took a staggering step backward before some inner voice got her back in hand. Stopping where I was, I watched even as she received and understood my message before I began walking towards her. Despite my resolve, I heard my voice shake, as I began what I had prepared in my mind to say.
“Gisela, I've come to tell you……..”
I got no further, because I could not keep my composure, once again feeling hot tears running down my face. The shame of crying in front of a woman washed over me, only making things worse and I lost sight of her as my tears blinded me, so I jumped a bit when I felt her hand on my arm, touching the bandages lightly as she stepped closer towards me.
“He’s gone, Gisela,” I blurted out, shaking my head in sadness, my vision clearing a bit so I saw that while her eyes were liquid and shiny, the tears had not started running yet, and she had not yet said a word.
Finally, she spoke and her voice, while composed, betrayed the effort she was making to keep it so. “Thank you Titus Pullus, for coming here to tell me this news. I…..”
She got no further, the dam suddenly bursting and she began sobbing, collapsing into my arms. By reflex, I put my arms around her, savagely trying to repress the thought that this was the most natural thing in the world, that it was as if she were made to fit in my arms. Self-loathing filled my soul, yet it only made me cry more, and there we stood, for how long I know not, emptying our grief into each other.
After we regained possession of ourselves, we entered the wine shop and I found myself repeating the news to the owner, who burst into tears himself. Calienus was well loved, his death a cause of grief to many people. I sat at a table, with Gisela automatically bringing wine and two cups. Then to my surprise, she sat down with me, pouring herself a cupful.
Once our cups were full, we paused for a moment, and then I said quietly, “To Calienus. One of the best friends I ever had.”
Even as we clinked our cups together in salute, I felt the tears coming again, but I just managed to blink them back. It was bad enough that I unmanned myself in front of Gisela, I was not about to do it in front of anyone else. Instead, I cleared my throat and continued, perhaps a bit too gruffly, “Well, I suppose you’ll be going back to your people then.”
She did not say anything for a moment, just regarding me quietly before shaking her head. I could not help noticing a teardrop falling to land perfectly in the middle of her wine cup. Appropriate, I thought. Waiting for another moment, I then opened my mouth to speak but she broke the silence first.
“I cannot go back to my people, Pullus. They will not have me.”
I was surprised at this, but pleasantly so, I am ashamed to say. I made no attempt to hide it, either, at least the surprised part. “Really?” I asked. “Why’s that? You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I gave myself to my people’s enemy, Titus,” she replied softly, with more than a tinge of bitterness.
“Surely they’ve accepted Rome by now, haven’t they?” I know now how naïve a question it was.
What could be described as scorn flitted across her face, but since she could tell I meant no harm, her expression softened. “No Titus, they have not accepted it. Nor, I fear, will they ever accept it.”
“Then, why did you join up with us? Why do you follow us?”
She shrugged, still staring at the table. Finally, she answered simply, “I fell in love.” I was confused, and seeing it, she continued. “I came to see the Romans for myself because I had heard so much about them. At first, I thought you were puny little men,” she laughed, “not you of course Titus. But you are almost a giant among your people. So I will admit that at first I was not impressed. Then, my cousin opened this shop, and I decided to spend some time working here so that I could understand Romans better.”
This was nothing short of astonishing to me, and I could not resist blurting out, “But how did you get to do this? Surely your father didn’t approve.”
She laughed again, and I felt better that I was at least making her laugh at this time.
“Titus, Gallic women are much different from Roman women. We can choose who we marry, for example.”
While I had heard this, I never credited it as true, yet here was a Gallic woman telling me so!